


kid, one day you'll be famous

by apatternedfever



Series: what we've got is what we've made [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (Howard and Maria), Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Alternate Universe - Bands, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Not Beta Read, Tony Stark has the healthiest coping mechanisms, author suggests you squint gleefully, is not a focus of the story but is part of it, pre-canon as much as an AU can be pre-canon but, sort of Rhodey/Tony if you squint, starts at MIT and moves shortly afterwards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apatternedfever/pseuds/apatternedfever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>When James Rhodes is eighteen, he goes to MIT and meets a pain in the ass kid who sounds like a rock god in training.</i> Rhodey has a guitar, Tony has a voice to be reckoned with, and maybe this wasn't the plan, but it's not bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kid, one day you'll be famous

**Author's Note:**

> One day Claire said, "but seriously though, Tony the prima donna frontman and Rhodey the long-suffering guitarist, y/y?" Then this happened. I'm hoping one day more of this will happen, eventually, including Happy and Pepper and all sorts of band-y shenanigans.
> 
> Both the fic and the series title stolen from Dessa's _Crew_. Not beta read, because I have no beta, so if you see anything, please feel free to point it out.

When James Rhodes is eighteen, he goes to MIT and meets a pain in the ass kid who sounds like a rock god in training.

He does a lot of other things when he’s eighteen, too — gets his first boyfriend, impresses his boss, makes an enemy out of a professor, hooks up with his ex-girlfriend, comes out to his mom, buys himself the best guitar he’s ever owned, and manages an A in everything but the comp class with that particular professor. But the one that ends up having the biggest impact on his future, the one that puts him on an entirely new path he’d never have seen himself on, is meeting Tony Stark.

Well, strictly speaking, the guitar has something to do with it, too.

*

"You learning how to play?"

Tony Stark is still the biggest pain in the ass that Jim has ever met, but somewhere along the months since they met, the kid’s grown on him. He’s smart, he’s kinda funny, and it can’t be easy being years younger than everyone else there. Kid doesn’t really seem to know anyone, either; Jim never sees him with anyone else, and with the way he acted when Jim started asking him around to study or get lunch or just hang out….

Well, Tony could probably use a friend.

So generally Jim ignores the pain in the ass things Tony still does, but he can’t stop the twitch when Tony reaches for his brand-new guitar. He’s only had it a week. It’s the most expensive thing he’s ever owned, it sounds a hundred times better than his dad’s hand-me-down that he learned on, and even though he doesn’t think Tony’s going to hurt it, if something does happen, it’s gonna take him another year to replace it at least.

"I already know how to play," he answers, leaning back in his chair and watching Tony instead of his book.

"Really?" He straightens up, grinning as he shoves his hands back into his pockets. "Cool. How come I’ve never seen it out before?"

"I just bought that one. I left my old guitar at home." Going home for the semester break was what convinced him to buy the new one already, even if he, technically speaking, should have held on to some of that money for now. Guitar’s been a tension relief for him since his mom started teaching him the chords at thirteen. He’s hoping having one around will make this semester go a little smoother.

"Can I hear you play?"

They’re supposed to be studying, but Jim needs a break anyway; his head’s starting to hurt from staring at the book. Tony gave up at least twenty minutes ago, maybe longer, he wasn’t paying that much attention. They’re not going to get anything done in the next five minutes anyway.

He shrugs, putting his textbook back on the desk. “Alright.” He switches from the desk chair to the bed, picking up his guitar with the kind of reverence he’d had for his first car and the robot Tony showed him last month. He looks up at Tony, who bypasses furniture entirely to sprawl on the carpet in front of him, legs akimbo and propped up on his elbows. “Got a request?”

"Impress me," Tony suggests with a grin, and Jim raises an eyebrow, letting out a small snort as he considers what he knows, and what he knows best.

He goes for Hotel California — he likes the sound, he does a few things with it of his own, and he knows Tony knows it pretty well. Jim’s got a habit of leaving the radio on while he does his homework, and Tony’s got a habit of singing along, either under his breath or with ridiculous exaggeration and wild air guitar -- like with so many other things Tony does, there is no in-between.

He makes his way through the intro, losing himself in the music, barely even thinking to watch Tony’s reactions. He sort of registers Tony moving to sit up, crossing his legs and leaning forward. It’s second to the music. Once Jim starts playing, everything is. The words are coming up; Jim’s not a great singer, but he’s passable, and he takes a breath, ready to start.

He gets about two words in before he lets his voice die away, drowned out by something much, much better.

Tony is singing. And not wailing along like he get a prize for making the silliest face, and not under his breath so Jim can barely hear. Just singing, and he’s good. He’s on key and on exactly the right notes, but it’s more to it than just that, that _something_ that singers have that makes them sound more than technically proficient.

He’s really damn good, and if Jim didn’t know the song so well he might lose the music with the surprise of that. But he does, and Jim’s pretty damn good too, so he keeps going, on through the verse, on through the song.

"Okay," Tony admits, when the last notes die away, "I’m impressed."

Jim smiles as he sets his guitar aside. “Yeah, well, so am I.”

*

Jam sessions become a regular thing. It’s how they pass study breaks, how they unwind from stress, and sometimes how he can lure Tony away from robots and science labs. It makes them closer, and by the time they leave MIT, Rhodey’s got a new nickname, a lot of new songs memorized, and a best friend he’d never have expected.

And when Tony’s parents die, Rhodey’s expecting to have to go drag Tony out of a bar somewhere, expecting to be there for him to lean on as he falls apart. He knows things were never great, but they’re still his parents, and it’s not going to be easy. He’s ready for it, already considering how he’s going to get Tony to stay sober, or at least not falling-down drunk, for the funeral.

He doesn’t expect Tony to show up on his doorstep fifteen minutes before he leaves for his flight, a flyer in hand and a manic grin on his face.

"What’s with the suitcase, leave that, I’ve still got some of your stuff, we can buy anything else you need," Tony demands without so much as a hello, grabbing it from Rhodey’s hand as he stands stunned in the doorway and elbowing his way past into the apartment. "Just bring your guitar, come on, there’s this open mic thing at this bar — great place, great drinks, I can’t believe I haven’t brought you there yet, you need to visit more — anyway, I signed us up for it, it’s tomorrow night. We can practice on the plane. My plane, by the way, what the hell are you doing booking flights when you can just call me? What good’s having a private plane if it’s not to save your best friend from flying coach?"

It’s a breakdown and Rhodey knows it — but it’s a breakdown that isn’t as likely to end in alcohol poisoning, locking him out of the lab so nobody can drag Tony out for days on end, or any of the other self-destructive options Rhodey was braced for. So he doesn’t say no; he grabs his guitar (and his suitcase, ignoring the face Tony makes) and lets Tony lead him into the car.

Tony cries on the plane, when Rhodey forces him to stop jittering around and singing for two seconds by enfolding him in a hug. Tony gets more than a little drunk at the bar, two hours before the slot that it turns out he actually did sign them up for — Rhodey really wasn’t sure. But Tony doesn’t get drunk enough to pass out, and when the time rolls around, he waves off Rhodey’s last offer to tell the guy they’re canceling and drags him out on the stage.

They’re always great together. With an audience to drive them on, they’re fucking amazing, and that’s half of why Rhodey agrees when Tony demands they do it again sometime. The rest of it has to do with the way Tony gives him a real grin instead of his manic one, and stands there with an arm slung around his shoulders, as close to still as Tony ever gets for the first time since they got off the plane.

If playing at a bar instead of in their homes now and then gets Tony to look like that, even on a day like today, then Rhodey’s not going to refuse.

*

Of course, Rhodey should have known from the start that Tony wouldn’t be happy with occasional open mic nights whenever they happen to be together already. When Tony really likes something, he throws himself into it, no holding back, just raw passion and more than a little bit of obsession. It’s how he’s always been with his science and his robots, and now, in the aftermath of losing his parents, Rhodey can see him picking up the same habits with his singing right after that first show. He locks himself alone in a room, or drags Rhodey and his guitar in with him, singing for hours until someone makes him stop, staring at sheet music to memorize something new.

Maybe it’s too hard to go into the labs, all of them with the ghost of Howard Stark hanging over them, a bar to reach for and a weight on Tony’s back. Maybe he needs the connection more than he wants to admit, needs somebody around to lean on, and the music is a convenient excuse. Maybe it really is nothing but Tony enjoying it on its own merits, with the same laser focus that he’s always had.

Whatever it is, Rhodey doesn’t go a day without playing something for Tony to sing. Not for the three weeks he sticks around after the funeral. Most days it’s hours, between the sleep he insists Tony gets for at least a couple of hours and the eating he insists they both do at least once a day. Hours of music, hours of playing songs both long familiar and brand new; hours of listening for any sign of a crack in Tony’s voice, for whatever musical shelter he’s build himself to keep out his reaction to come crumbling down.

And two days after he finally gets home (flying coach, after convincing Tony that no really, it’s fine, and he doesn’t mind), when he’s finally caught up on some of the sleep Tony’s made him miss and is trying to figure out what to do now — well, he can’t say he’s entirely surprised by the knock at the door.

"So I was thinking," Tony says, standing on the doorway with a duffel bag on one shoulder and more uncertainty in his face than he probably realizes he’s showing, "Malibu’s not the only place with bars, right? We could find someplace around here that does open mic too. I could stick around for a while, you know, keep you from getting too boring. What do you say?"

"You get the couch," Rhodey says as he steps back, and watches the tension melt out of Tony, watches with relief as the nervous hope morphs into a bright grin.

*

When Rhodey is eighteen, the plan is school and then army. When Rhodey turns twenty-five, he’s in grad school, has had his best friend unofficially living with him for five months, and the army is a dream that’s getting a little fainter every day.

"We could do this, you know?" Tony says to him one night, face flushed with energy and alcohol and jumping around during the show. Rhodey’s half-drunk and coming off a day of classes and an energetic set, and he should be tired, but he feels like his whole body is humming instead. Tony is leaning across the table to make his point and be heard over the next band, his hands practically in Rhodey’s face and his ass practically out of the seat. "We could do this for real. We’re that good."

"Pretty sure bands who only play covers don’t make it that far, Tony," Rhodey argues with no heat in it. This is a one a.m. and high on adrenaline idea, the kind that will pass in the morning, even for Tony. No reason to put too much effort into it.

Tony thinks for a second, then gestures widely, announcing, “I can fix that,” with a giant grin on his face.

"You do that," Rhodey says with a snort, slumping further back into his side of the booth. His foot is tapping to the beat of the music (they’re not great, they’re not _them_ , but they’re not terrible either) and his arms are sprawled along the back of the seat.

"I will," Tony insists, apparently deciding he isn’t close enough to really make his point. He slides around the seat until he’s half in Rhodey’s space, close enough to poke Rhodey in the shoulder and then drop his head down to rest against the spot. Rhodey thinks about shrugging him off for a second, and moves his arm down from the booth instead, wrapping it around Tony’s back to help him tip into an undignified sprawl, half across Rhodey and half across the seat. "If I write us some songs of our own. Would you do it? Try this for real with me?"

Tony is warm and earnest, and Rhodey’s body is still humming like a live wire, and the music around them really isn’t that good but the alcohol is. That’s why he even considers it, he’s pretty sure. If things had been different, if Tony had asked while he was sober and studying, or while they were practicing, he thinks he’d have just laughed. Instead he shrugs, feeling Tony move with it under his arm. “Yeah, okay. If you can write some decent songs, I’ll give it a shot.”

Tony looks up and beams, presses a sloppy kiss on his cheek before settling down again, talking a mile a minute about how awesome it will be, how cool it would be to cut a record, how they should probably get more than just the two of them or maybe they can just learn more instruments, they could do that, right? Rhodey closes his eyes and lets it wash over him, nodding along in the dark and envisioning a future he knows will never come to pass.

It’s not a bad dream, though.


End file.
